CRAZY TO LOVE YOU
by ShiroiShoto
Summary: Girodelle's thoughts about being in love with one particular golden-haired, sapphire-eyed, prickly rose of Versailles.


_**CRAZY TO LOVE YOU**_

* * *

 _Rose of Versailles_

 _31.12.2015 -1.1.2016_

* * *

 _ **One-shot**_

 _ **Completed**_

 _ **Un-beta-ed**_ _– beta pending and chapter subject to switching when beta-ed_

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 _ **Disclaimer:**_ _Not owning a whit. Wait, this story is mine. Characters are not, though. This time, the inspiration was Cohen's song Crazy To Love You._

 _ **Synopsis:** Girodelle's thoughts about being in love with one particular golden-haired, sapphire-eyed prickly rose of Versailles._

 _ **Notes:** I think I have a fondness for cross-dressing female characters. This was literally written in two days just because I got interested in **Rose of Versailles** universe. Girodelle is a side character and one of the contenders for Oscar's hand, though he is very unsuccessful in the endeavor. He was interesting enough to write, mainly because his character seems to be so diverse in his responses through different media (manga, movie, anime). Any divergences from the timeline are intentional. Dedicated to **Mia** , as thanks for her interesting analysis of this wholly under-appreciated character on her site **The Thorns of the Roses.**_

 _ **Pairing:** Victor Clement de Girodelle/Oscar François de Jarjayes (unrequited)_

* * *

 _I had to be crazy_

 _To love you_

 _Had to go down to the pit_

 _I had to be crazy_

 _To love you_

 _Begging like crazy to quit_

* * *

Ever if there had been so long from that fateful day, I still remember it vividly, like it had happened only mere moments before.

I don't know if I should bless or curse it - bless it because this was the day I fell in love – and curse it for the self-same reason.

This was the day I've gone crazy.

So crazy, that later on, in my darkest moments, I had literally begged for death, to quit that feeling which plagued me through all days and night from out meeting henceforth. If I had known the despair my craziness would bring to me the moment I've met my doom in that forest right then, I would've begged her to strike me down in an act of mercy right there and then.

There's no other reason – how else could I explain all those unreasonable thoughts and actions that besieged me after meeting that – that devil in angel's disguise?

For she was definitely a devil - a demon with blade and of angelic form with her slightly curly, loose golden hair and blazing blue eyes looking at me daringly from her heart-shaped face with a proud chin of a particularly irate kitten.

A wood nymph - a Sylphide – clad in simple garments of the menfolk - loose white shirt with green vest and dark red trousers with simple brown boots.

I had almost mistaken her for a boy, until she introduced herself.

 _Oscar François de Jarjayes._

The hellion who was to be my contender this very day for the title of Commander of the Royal Guard.

By all logic, I should've refused her challenge.

It was unsanctioned, we didn't have our seconds or impartial witnesses and no doubt His Majesty would be furious at that kind of insubordination from his loyal subjects.

But something about the tilt of that golden-haired head, that challenging gleam in those otherworldly sapphire blue eyes and arrogant smirk on rose-colored lips made my mouth voice an agreement even before I knew what I was agreeing to.

Why not?

Better to save her the embarrassment of losing in private than to publicly disgrace her. I was confident in my sword-wielding skills, as I've reportedly had no contender in this kingdom. I was righteously proud of my skill and talent honed through the years since I've first picked up the sword, and there was little to no chance for this slip of a nymph to even pose a challenge to me, never mind a threat.

I was mistaken.

She had won, fair and square, making me breathless with her speed and grace. She was powerful too, to joust my sword out of my hand with such an ease that could be only borne out of long-honed practice.

And to think that she didn't want the post...

Truly, a shame.

I should've been quiet on the matter, but when His Majesty inquired about the lack of a public duel between the two of us, I was honest.

Truthfully, I've became something of a laughingstock for acceding this so verily coveted position to her – but I could not bear the thought of not seeing those eyes ever again. Yes, I've cloaked that fear of mine into age-old honor and duty reasoning, and I should've respected her wishes on the matter - after all, she didn't want to be a captain – but I was selfish and desperate enough to play dirty in order to see her once again.

My Sylphide.

She had glared at me for my impudence, and no matter how much I've wished otherwise, my damned sense of honor (selfishness,) firmly put me in unfavorable category with her.

Still, I knew I've done the right thing – despite the initial problems from some upstarts that had thought her win against me was just a fluke, she had quickly straightened them out and laid an iron law on how the things would be ran from then on.

Every morning, I've had the privilege of watching this Sylphide command her men, her voice ranging across the fields or rooms of the palace.

How the sun caressed those golden locks that had flown in unruly waves around her face and down her back...

... how those eyes, the color of richest sapphires gleamed with fire and determination...

... how she moved, with an ease of purpose, yet still retained a mysterious grace –

\- and my heart ached from her beauty, both outer and within, likening to an eternal, untouchable fire. I knew that she disliked to be compared to a rose, but I can't say the comparison was wrong. She was a unique beauty but with thorns attached - thorns that allowed only select few to bask in the warmth of her affections.

Her servant, André Grandier was surely the luckiest of men for having been graced with her friendship - and oh, how I envied him for it. Their easy laughter and teasing of each other, how they depended on each other without the slightest of hesitations... I longed to have that for myself, which both surprised and dismayed my soul.

I was of a higher status than her, and had my own share of admirers, and men who wanted to be in my confidence. While I had few that could brag with the title of being my acquaintances, be that in court or on the field, they weren't the ones that held my trust, attention and affection.

This seemed to be reserved for that prickly Commander of mine, the golden ghost that haunted the halls of Versailles day and night in order to keep the royal family safe.

Every time we had to go out to the field, I saw how competent she was. She took care of her men and in return, the men took care of her, obeying her without the slightest hesitation.

* * *

 _Had to go crazy to love you_

 _You who were never the one_

 _Whom I chased through the souvenir heartache_

 _Her braids and her blouse_

 _All undone_

* * *

It broke my heart. Watching her, while she unknowingly stepped on the shards of my heart, when she took Fernsen's hand, accepting his offer for a dance.

That evening, she was the most beautiful dame in the ball room. Clad in gold and white, her hair pulled in up into a loose bun, with only some naughty little tresses to caress her face which shone with adoration for this man. She was a true Sylphide, and her sapphire eyes were gentle with the affection toward the man I wanted to murder if that would mean she would be looking at me with the self-same feelings.

She was so beautiful I couldn't speak and even now, so long after that night, I see her in the back of my mind, the ethereal queen like she was.

But her happiness didn't last long. She stiffened in Fersen's embrace, and a moment later, the sheer bliss on her face crumbled into an indescribable agony that's known only to those whose heart was cruelly rejected by the one they loved.

It was enough to make me want to pierce Fersen's foolish heart with the steel of my blade, with no duel involved. How could he not see what a treasure she was?

She may have been awkward at times not knowing what she was, man among women or woman among men – just because of one selfish, whimsical decision of a man she called her father. I wasn't blind - court ladies were sighing after her, how gallant and helpful she was, and if she were a man – truly, she would've been besieged by their amorous declarations and invitations from sunup to sundown! Even men of the court, who accepted her as their equal couldn't help but let their eyes slide down her uniform, silently comparing her curves to those of the ladies of the court and - God's teeth! - imagine her naked for their own pleasure! Thankfully, the uniform was a good deterrent to that kind of courtiers, and even if they wanted to woo her, she was more likely to deny even the strongest overtures by accident rather than acknowledge them as acceptable to her person.

She was a man among men, truly, but her maiden feelings were awkward and at impasse with what she had been taught from the most tender days of her youth.

But somehow, she unknowingly made my heart kneel in front of her - at first, out of respect for her skills and fire, and then because she was she - no more and no less.

And it hurt to the deepest pits of hell that she overlooked me in favor for the man that had eyes for the Queen of France herself. In my eyes, blasphemous as it was, Oscar was greater than the Queen she so adored and protected with her life.

But to see her flee in tears, with her hair half undone, away from that fool of a man... made my heart break twice for her pain and thrice for my inability to be of help to her in quelling her agony at experiencing heartbreak for the first time.

My beloved, broken Sylphide...

But the next day, she has shown herself within the barracks again, a little bit worse for wear, her eyes slightly puffy and bloodshot and I smelt a faint aroma of wine on her breath, but otherwise nobody close to her could've guessed what had happened to her last night.

And this... this was the moment I realized I wanted to protect her at all costs.

* * *

 _I had to go crazy_

 _to love you,_

 _Had to let everything fall_

 _I had to go crazy_

 _To love you_

 _Had to be no one at all._

* * *

I had to be kind of crazy to wager my happiness and my future on a single answer.

One answer to a very casual, but very important question.

When she had left the Royal Guards, she created emptiness within my chest. Even the court ladies noticed that something was wrong with me, but nobody thought that it was her absence that tormented me so. Of course, the courts were less bright with her absence and loss of her quirks, so if anyone even had inclination, I could've said that I was just unused to my new position as a Commander. Her sword at my hip was a constant reminder of the loss we've suffered with her resignation. It didn't help the men under her command were in discontent at her disappearance. Thankfully, she had trained them well, so the transfer of orders went better than it would have if they hadn't been witnesses to her handling me her sword. At this point, if His Majesty appointed any other man as their Commander, I honestly think they would've outright rebelled.

My last attempt to protect her fire was me asking for her hand in marriage. I had been surprised General Jarjayes even allowed my suit, but he seemed to be both relieved and a little bit guilty at putting his daughter, however capable she was, under a pressure of assuming duties traditionally handled by a male heir of estate.

But Oscar had done so splendidly and no one would've minded if she were to cede her duties in order to marry. This made me hope that for once, things would go my way, but of course, with Oscar in picture, I should've expected everything would turn out just opposite.

When I touched her, she didn't want my touch. And not in a sense of being too shy - she wasn't shy by any manner - I've even witnessed her decking men and her servant if they were particularly idiotic on the issue, even if that kind of corporal punishment was rare for her.

She didn't know what to do with my touch – the touch that made most beautiful and graceful ladies of the court feel faint and short of their breath, made her look away from me kissing her hand and glaring at the wall, as if she were ashamed of being in such position with me.

When I kissed her at the party, for a brief instant, I've known what heaven felt like, and her eyes looked favorably upon me. Only too soon, the moment passed, and instead of a pliant Sylphide I had a beautiful, but angry warrioress on my hands.

Her eyes were clear and glaring at me in defiance and confusion, while they were soft and even relieved when her servant interrupted us.

And in this moment I knew I had lost.

" _Therefore, please accept this as a proof of my love: the withdrawing of my proposal…"_

Those words were the hardest I've had to say in my life. I've knowingly left my heart behind - knowingly I said, because no matter she didn't return my feelings, no matter how much she had hurt me, consciously or otherwise, I still loved her and would love her to my death.

That night, when she came in front of me again, it was raining. We were to fight against commoners, and I led her Royal Guard. I knew it would've been a massacre of innocent people, but orders were orders –

\- and there she was, in front of the muskets on her white horse, long golden tresses plastered to her head and blue uniform, eyes blazing as she stretched her arms wide apart when she screamed that if we wanted to shoot at them, we would have to shoot through her first.

I nearly recoiled at the image, but held myself back. Her eyes were so full of determination and fire and it was either I command the men to shoot – at their former Commander, no less - or to call a withdrawal.

Withdrawal that would cost me my head.

Insubordination of that degree was punishable with loss of head of under guillotine for the offending party, and with the riots being at all-time high, the army of His Majesty couldn't afford any disobedience to the orders we received.

But ordering them to shoot would be like taking the musket and fire the shots to kill her myself.

My beautiful, beloved Oscar...

But for her...For her, crazy at it seemed to be at the moment, I ordered the men to stand down, and retreat. For her to live, I sacrificed my own life. She was still so innocent in such matters and I let her be.

" _Ah, you don't seem to know, do you. I'd rather face the guillotine as a traitor than see you buried in blood. My Sylphide …"_

She lived for her beloved and if that meant I would have to die under the sharp blade of guillotine, then I would go to my death gladly, with a smile on my lips.

* * *

 _Sometimes I'd head for the highway_

 _I'm old and the mirrors don't lie_

 _But crazy has places to hide in_

 _That are deeper than any goodbye_

* * *

The time has passed, and those turbulent happenings seem like a dream right now - a kind of a beautiful nightmare some poet or writer would dream out in their feverish wanderings in the depths of their minds.

All the blood on guillotine, the one of nobles' had been washed by the commoners once again, and slowly, but surely, there came a new order. Bonaparte came and went, and politics are still what they are, intrigues, subterfuge, and truths intermixed with lies.

Sometimes I wonder, was that what she had died for? What would Oscar say, if she would have known how Marie Antoinette ended? Would she blame me for not protecting her beloved Queen in her stead?

I don't know. But what I do know is that when Oscar had died; there went any hope of me having her in my life. I found out about her death the same day she had died - ironically enough, only an hour after the rebels had stormed the Bastille.

There were talks about the golden-haired commander ordering the gunnery in front of Bastille to break the walls down, standing in front of them, and commanding them to fire like an angel of death and justice, clad in blue with golden wreath of hair falling around their shoulders.

The assault was successful - but it had been paid in her blood and with her life. Her body had been perforated by the bullets of the soldiers that were defending the bastion. I didn't see her corpse, and for that little mercy, I am grateful... otherwise, I would've surely gone insane with grief.

The next months, I was practically mocking my luck, what with walking in the midst of the rebels, not even bothering to hide my noble roots in hopes of getting caught and turned in for one-way _rendezvous_ with guillotine – at this point, death would've been a mercy for me rather than something to be afraid of. At least I could've been with her again, but the angel of death held its scythe away from my neck as if mocking my despair. My two older brothers and their wives hadn't been so lucky - both perished under guillotine, with Jean Armand leaving me his five year old son Alain to raise in his stead.

Now I am old. I've holed myself in a small cottage that was property of my family, while Alain had fled in Britain with his small family in search of an asylum and a new future. They had begged me to go with them, but I remained steadfast. I will die on the French soil – the same soil my dear Oscar and I had been born on so long ago, and the one her blood had baptized for the people of France.

Right now, I am looking at her portrait. Beside her sword and memories, it's my most cherished possession. She had been painted, in all her splendor, like Roman god of war, Mars. Her gentle visage would've been termed inappropriate for such a powerful entity, but I find it suits her - she was always the one to fight, whether with words or with swords, in elegant courts or through the dirtiest alleys of Paris. The artist captured the gold in her hair and the sapphires that were her eyes, perfectly, but her fire is the one thing the picture, even well-painted like this one is, lacks greatly. The original is always unsurpassable in such matters.

Maybe I am crazy. I had to be, with me having staked everything on one woman that didn't even love me, though I do dare to think she had some fondness for my antics, when I was attempting to gain her hand in matrimony. But now, I realize that she was a flame - too independent by far, and she wouldn't have done well being sheltered, no matter how well-meaning the attempt. I had to be crazy, to deny myself the happiness I could've found with some other woman. But I knew that this particular venue would've been futile from the very beginning if I ever pursued it.

I've lost my heart one sunny day under blooming cherry tree when crossing swords with golden-haired, sapphire-eyed little slip of a woman hiding in men's clothes.

 _Oscar François de Jarjayes._

I love her. Even now. I see her in the dancing leaves of the summer, the twinkling stars of the spring and gentle sunset of the autumn. The white plains of snow remind me of her beauty that evening when I saw her, the only and one time, wearing a dress.

Looking in the mirror now, my face is traced with wrinkles and my hair is threaded with silver. My eyes are deeper and sadder. I move slowly, both because of age and old wounds I've gained in my service in youth. However surprisingly, this doesn't disturb me. Because every day spent is a step closer to my beloved.

And if I have to be thought crazy to believe it so, I don't mind it in the slightest.

* * *

 _ **The End**_


End file.
